


After the Fall

by GabrielVincent



Category: James Bond (Movies), Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, I need help, M/M, Oh god, i guess hints of ptsd, it's just about healing and shit, this fandom, this isn't at all graphic, this pairing, warning for um abstract shit, warning for world destruction or something?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-14
Updated: 2012-11-14
Packaged: 2017-11-18 14:55:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/562288
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabrielVincent/pseuds/GabrielVincent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>ok so if this doesn't make sense it's basically about silva and bond and the fact that they both seem like they need a hell of a lot of recovery, and also they seem to kind of need each other. it's sort of post-skyfall and beyond. also, most speech is from the song 'boom boom' by the animals which as you all may realise is the song silva plays to bond out of a helicopter before fucking shit up at skyfall.</p>
    </blockquote>





	After the Fall

**Author's Note:**

> ok so if this doesn't make sense it's basically about silva and bond and the fact that they both seem like they need a hell of a lot of recovery, and also they seem to kind of need each other. it's sort of post-skyfall and beyond. also, most speech is from the song 'boom boom' by the animals which as you all may realise is the song silva plays to bond out of a helicopter before fucking shit up at skyfall.

After the end of the world, the return to routine seemed to go backwards into place. Although the pieces fit together, they seemed unfamiliar and strange. Unease seeped through cracks that had never been there before. 

James Bond shed his code like dead skin. As people questioned how he managed to fall so hard, he sat atop a throne of rubble and murmured, "I jumped."

His counterpart, barely breathing, beyond the point of trying to die, cracked a tiny smile as he recalled catching him. 

\-----------

On a morning like any other, Bond is drowning, trapped between states of consciousness. His body jerks and he gasps for breath, clawing at a frozen ceiling he's seen a million times. A heavy hand reaches across his chest and a quiet voice repeats his name in his ear and it takes a while, longer than usual, but he surfaces, says nothing and is grateful for the warmth by his side, waiting patiently for his heart rate to return to normal.

This setup is fine, as good a recovery process as any- and when Silva burns in his sleep, Bond is there to smother the flames and cool the embers. They simply wonder how long there can be peace until they're both engulfed simultaneously. Although the end of the world has come and gone, they have both ended up with more to lose than when they began. 

Bond's eyes, ice caverns, focus on a point on the ceiling for a full five minutes. It's an improvement; Silva looks up from the screen and kisses his bare shoulder.

Silva still has control of what there is left to control. It's something he couldn't relinquish if he tried, a bitter phantom limb he can't get rid of, a parasitic extension of his fragile existence. Bond happily joins him in the crevice, tirelessly working to try and get a hold of the power he once had. Today he's healing, yes- and Silva will guide him through it without hesitance, with only gladness, hope and affection- but tomorrow: tomorrow he's hunting. Tomorrow, they both know, they take on the destruction as a singular force. Tomorrow the power is theirs. 

\---------------------

After the scheduled clean up of the apocalypse, who was left? Wandering souls and tiny, piggy, rich round suits stared up at the sky and carried on with their blind games of who-gets-the-crown. Bond turned his head to look lazily at their ant-like forms, rested his hand on Silva's which rested on a button, took away the option of a crown entirely. They sat in their castle and watched the survivors scrounge for the fallen scraps of precious metal. 

\---------------------

"Gonna shoot you right down," mutters Silva, knocking a tyrant king off a horse and freeing a country in the tap-tap---tap of a keyboard. As if on cue, Bond fires long range out a crack in a window and knocks a shot glass off a wall a mile away. The gun drops to the floor with a clatter and he kisses Silva's neck, inhaling and smothering. 

When the rest of the world warrants no attention, they cling to each other like they're trying to deny the feeling that their palace of debris could collapse at any moment. So far, no one has come close to their fortress, but it isn't for lack of trying. 

"Take you in my arms," Silva hums, hands inside Bond's t shirt, hiding from the idea that the universe is closing in on them, kissing hard, fucking harder, staving away the day that one of them can't save the other- warding off the belief in the thought of a reason to live- they know this life stops when they acknowledge what they have- 

\--------------------------------------------------

When the maggots that ate all of the wood they lived in began to realise they could build a better home on top of it from the corpses of other maggots, life began to gain shape and perpetuate and begin again. Rebirth had not been considered an option, until it was. The skeleton foundations of institution grew stronger, power changed hands until the world was as it once was. The intelligent outgrew the rich and true control was a tangible and possible thing. The race began, the hunt followed and the remaining few gave chase. A circuit board inside a concrete island began to look very small indeed.

\------------------------------------------------------

"I'm in love with you," Silva whispers, as they are driven into the fire. Bond opens his eyes, a desert oasis, and reaches out his hand as they are pushed under water.


End file.
